


There and never back again

by saltzatore



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, exchange-story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-13
Updated: 2011-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:24:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltzatore/pseuds/saltzatore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are episodes, periods of near-catatonic states when his reality turns red and so very, very cold his breath turns to ice in his lungs. When he is trapped in a memory that leaves him frozen, unable to make a sound. He drops like a stone then, Dean says; he goes down and doesn’t get up again, doesn’t move, doesn’t twitch for as long as it lasts. Sometimes he even stops breathing. Scares the shit out of his brother, but Sam can’t stop it. -- Sam tries to deal with what happened in The Cage and his life afterwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There and never back again

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted under my former pen name Mikiya2200.
> 
> A/N: This was written for this year's summer_sam_love - exchange for beamin_sunshine . Her prompt can be found at the end of the story. I hope this comes close to what you wanted for the prompt, I did the best I could, even though it might have turned out a little darker than I had planned originally. Have fun reading! :)
> 
> _______________________________________________

**  
**

 

  


[](http://pics.livejournal.com/mikiya2200/pic/0001hytd/)

  


_And in a burst of light that blinded every angel  
As if the sky had blown the heavens into stars  
You felt the gravity of tempered grace  
Falling into empty space  
No one there to catch you in their arms_

  
**Iridescent** , Linkin Park

 

 

 

“You look tired,” Adam says from where he is lounging on Dean’s bed, hands folded behind his head.

Sam doesn’t look up from his laptop.

“You should sleep more,” Adam continues, still watching him.

“I’m fine.”

“You should go out, have some fun, drink something, meet some girl—“

“I’m fine…” Sam insists, voice rising slightly.

Adam falls silent, but not for long, never for long.

“You know what I’d do if I were you? I’d go out, have the greasiest burger I could find, get drunk and meet some friends.” He sounds excited about it, even goes so far as to rub his hands together in anticipation and wiggle his eyebrows in a challenge.

Sam closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. Tries to ignore how his jaw clenches or his stomach twists painfully.

“I don’t have any friends…” he says matter-of-factly, because it’s true, he doesn’t, everyone he’s ever considered a friend is dead.

“You could make new friends,” Adam suggests. He looks around the room and gets up, walking over to the only window. “The sun is shining, the weather looks great, you should get out.”

Sam’s not in the mood for this, being around Adam and having this kind of conversation, not now, it brings back too many memories. Not the good ones.

“No,” he says softly and drops his gaze back to the screen, shutting Adam out.

Sometimes he would prefer nightmares to these conversations.

After all those years he’s found a way to live with nightmares. He is used to them. Used to not having a restful, undisturbed night’s sleep, used to waking up each morning, feeling as if he hasn’t closed his eyes at all. He is used to jerking awake in the middle of the night, a shout dying on his lips, fighting off lingering shadows of too real horrors that won’t leave him alone for the rest of the night. He is used to the terrifying feeling of his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, of his breath catching in his throat to the point of where he is sure he will never be able to take a normal breath that doesn’t hurt.

Sam is used to all of that, and more.

Being used to it doesn’t make the dreams any less frightening, though. Nightmares still scare him, they scare him more than he’d like to admit to himself, even after Hell.

 _Especially_ after Hell.

The moment between reality and nightmare, the lifetime he spends not knowing what’s real and what not—it’s those seconds he fears most. Even the nightmares pale compared to the terror of not being able to tell if he’s losing it or not.

Still, he considers himself somewhat lucky, Hell hasn’t made the nightmares worse. He doesn’t even have more than two in, say, a week and for him that’s about as lucky as he’ll ever get with them. But it’s not the nightmares he fears, not at all.

It’s the days that scare him, more than anything else, the hours when he is awake and conscious, aware of what is happening to him.

Because Hell has given him parting gifts, reminders that he shouldn’t feel too comfortable, that he won’t ever truly be safe again. That he isn’t _normal_.

There are episodes, periods of near-catatonic states when his reality turns red and so very, very _cold_ his breath turns to ice in his lungs. When he is trapped in a memory that leaves him frozen, unable to make a sound. He drops like a stone then, Dean says; he goes down and doesn’t get up again, doesn’t move, doesn’t twitch for as long as it lasts. Sometimes he even stops breathing. Scares the shit out of his brother, but Sam can’t stop it.

There’s no trigger for this, it’s not a particular color that reminds him of the time down there, no sound that might be familiar, no scent, no touch. Hell— _the cage_ doesn’t have sounds. Or scents, images. Whatever is done to you there doesn’t have a counterpart of it in the real world, nothing you could compare it to. You would have to invent a completely new language to talk about it and even then you would never come close to what it really feels like. You’re not supposed to be able to think about it, to process it, you’re not supposed to get out of it, to come back, there’s not supposed to be an _after_.

And even though there is, for him, he sometimes wishes there wasn’t, he sometimes wishes he was back in the cage, back in a place where he really belongs. The world, this life is not his anymore, not really, as much as he wants to believe that he’s out and back from the cage, he knows that’s a lie. His body might be out, his soul might be back where souls belong, but his mind… his mind will be forever locked away, he will never be free of its horrors, he will never be able to forget it.

And it gets worse, still, those flashbacks are not the only thing that’s haunting him.

Hell itself is following him.

Wherever he goes, whatever he does, Hell is always there, always just around the next corner. Looking at him. Watching him. Talking to him.

It even has a face.

That’s the worst part about it. Hell has a face and it’s not a demonic grimace, it’s not an ugly visage or a horrible, fear-inducing head that dominates his reality, meets his eyes when he turns around to look out of a window or opens a door to talk to the maid or let his brother in.

It’s always the same face, it doesn’t look angry, most of the time it even smiles at him, a friendly grin that makes him smile in return before he can stop himself.

It’s his brother’s face, the one he’s left behind in the cage. The one he knows longer than anyone else in the entire world. The one he’s spent countless eternities with, the man he knows inside and out, in more than one sense of the word. He’s seen sides of his brother no one is supposed to see and they’ve come closer than he’s ever been with anyone else. Hell does that to you, it turns your insides out until you don’t know yourself anymore and when you’re down and gone and no longer there… it starts all over again.

Adam is always with him. He’s always there, waiting for him. He talks to Sam, as if he is real, as if he is there with him. But Sam knows he isn’t. The “real” Adam is down in the cage, with the angels, where Sam saw him getting torn up and sliced open and burnt over and over again just for the fun of it. For revenge. Because angels, both fallen and righteous, get bored – and when they do, they get creative.

The Adam he sees isn’t burning, not anymore. Nor is he screaming or twisting in agony, begging them to stop, please stop, it’s too much— no, the Adam he sees is just there. He looks normal. Whole. Complete. Alive.

Carefree.

_Happy._

Sometimes Sam thinks that’s why he doesn’t think about it too much, why he just accepts Adam being there and talking to him, answers him when Adam wants to talk about stuff even though Sam knows he’s not real, a hallucination, maybe. Sam doesn’t— he can’t think about it because it’s so much easier not to, to react to Adam as if he is there, with him. As if his brother made it out, too.

With the flashbacks and the real world and the hunts and the research he just has no strength left to face another tragedy of his life, to realize that the one person who’s been strong enough to get him through Hell isn’t at his side anymore, isn’t there to hold him up.

Sometimes, Sam remembers, sometimes he is able to recall a time when his brother, the one who is not a hallucination, was the most important person in the world. When sitting in the passenger’s seat of the car and singing along to some Rock song was the best thing in the world, when being together would make him feel safe and relaxed, even in the oddest situations. When life was so much simpler than now and didn’t require more than some easy hunt, fast food and a motel room of whatever color to make him feel alive.

There had been dark times, too, even back then, times when he had been sure he couldn’t go on and that life was too much and that he would never be able to feel happy again. And even though it had been difficult and painful and incredibly hard to go on, there had always been his brother at his back, Dean had always been there to remind him that there was more to their lives than hunting and researching and looking for clues and information. Back then, before Cas, before the angel had taken his place as Dean’s brother, before he’d lost one brother to Heaven and the other to a place worse than Hell, Dean used to be really good at getting Sam’s mind off things that threatened to overwhelm him and drag him under.

These days, he’s not talking much, not doing much, except for one thing.

He’s watching Sam, all the time. But differently than Adam. Dean is watching him as if he is waiting for him to… do _something_ , maybe go off like a bomb and start shooting people. Sam doesn’t have urges like that, never had them, but maybe that’s what you’re supposed to do after you get back. He sometimes wonders if maybe Dean had those urges after he came back, but he wouldn’t know because Dean never talks about it, never talks about Hell.

At least not _his_ Hell.

Sam can understand that, really, he gets it, the not-talking, the keeping-quiet and ignoring it. It’s what Sam prefers, really, except that it doesn’t work for Sam. Because Hell is following him and Adam won’t be ignored. Sam has tried it before, tried not to listen when Adam was talking, tried to shut him out and concentrate on something different, but then he’d also ignored Dean most of the time and his brother, the not-hallucination one, doesn’t like to be ignored, it makes him cranky. Which, Sam has re-learned, means worried in Dean-standards. Sam doesn’t like worried-Dean, he doesn’t like to be stared at, he doesn’t like to be asked, every few minutes, if he’s okay. He doesn’t like to be asked if he wants to talk about it—because he doesn’t and Dean should know that.

Dean should know a lot of things, but Sam can see it takes his brother a lot of energy to care.

Dean has his own demons to fight these days, his brother is mourning a friend… a _brother_.

Dean was always closer to Cas than Sam was. And Sam knows that, for Dean, loosing Cas must hurt almost as much as loosing Adam hurt him. Okay, no, Dean didn’t have to watch Cas get destroyed time after time for all those years. And, no, Dean had others with him, it wasn’t just him and Castiel… but Sam knows it hurts to loose a brother. And he knows that Dean is grieving for Cas as much as Sam is for Adam.

And Sam knows how it feels when friends turn on you, knows how hard it is, how much it hurts. He doesn’t know how to help Dean, because no matter how often you have to go through this, it never gets easier, there’s never a way to not feel the pain, no manual of “ _How to cope with abandonment issues due to people close to you stabbing knives into your back_ ”. Even if there was, Dean probably wouldn’t bother to read it, he’s coping with the situation like he copes with everything that comes too close for comfort, he pushes it away. Memories of the life before the Cage are hazy, almost dreamlike for Sam, but this situation he knows, it’s very familiar to him.

They are at Bobby’s (again), Dean is working on the Impala (again) and mourning someone they’ve lost (again) and not letting Sam get close (again). History repeating itself all over.

Again.

“You’re doing it again.”

Adam’s voice pulls Sam back out of his thoughts and he starts, head snapping up to look at Adam where he is sitting opposite him at the table, head propped up on a hand as he stares at Sam, watching him, always watching him.

At least Sam still has one brother who’s speaking to him.

“Huh?” Sam says, confused, needing a moment to find back into the here and now.

“You’re doing it again,” Adam repeats patiently, eyes focused on Sam, studying him like an experiment at school.

“What are you talking about?”

Adam points at the laptop. “You’re looking for a way to save the feathered jerk’s ass.”

They’ve been over this before, more often than he can count. Sam wants to help Dean help Castiel, find a way to get the self-proclaimed god back to being a mere angel, even if it’s highly unlikely that they will be able to do it without killing him… or getting killed.

Adam thinks he’s nuts, Adam thinks he’s lost his mind for even considering helping Cas.

The thing is, Adam doesn’t like Castiel. _Hates his guts_ might be a better term for it. As soon as there is even the slightest possibility that Sam might be looking up something that would help them get Cas back to normal, Adam gets angry. He starts bad-mouthing Castiel, starts calling him names, tells Sam over and over again they shouldn’t waste their time on him.

Sam doesn’t listen to that, not anymore. After all, they have been over this before and Adam knows he won’t change his mind about it. He doesn’t really see the point in arguing about it now, but he knows Adam won’t let it go so he might as well get it over with.

“ _Castiel_ is our friend, we have to find a way to help him.”

It’s the same thing he always says, the same words that come so naturally to him that he doesn’t really listen to himself anymore.

And, of course, Adam follows their established routine and tries to hit him where it hurts.

“He’s Dean’s friend, Sam, he’s never been your friend. Friends don’t try to kill each other.”

Except, it doesn’t, it doesn’t hurt, not one bit.

“He didn’t try to kill me—“

Adam gets angry, the laptop is slammed shut and Sam winces at the loud crack that echoes through the room.

“He _used_ you, Sam!”

Adams voice is loud now, he’s fuming, glaring at Sam over the table.

“He brought you back so he could play games with you, _both of you_ , he left you topside _without a soul_ for a whole year and didn’t bother to help you!”

Adam’s moving in for the kill, pausing for effect, to show Sam that the next thing he’s going to say is going to hurt—

“He used you and then tore that fucking wall down as a distraction! He doesn’t care about you!”

—when all it really does is keeping Sam from having a look at things. He needs to get back to the facts.

“Dean thinks—“

But Adam doesn’t agree, doesn’t want to listen.

“I don’t care what Dean thinks!” He’s yelling now, slamming his open hand on the table, eyes narrowing on Sam. “That asshole was willing to sacrifice you for his master plan, that stupid jerk of a brother of yours should look for a way to kick Castiel’s ass five ways to Sunday, not try to save him so that they can become BFFs again!”

Sam’s heard this all before, though. “We’ve been over this, Adam, Castiel is our friend, he deserves a second chance—“

“All he has ever done to you was _use_ you, both of you, he’s kept you alive and protected as long as you were of use to him, as long as you would get him what he wants. That’s not what friends do, Sam. That thing doesn’t know what friendship means, he doesn’t know what it means to be a brother and still Dean’s treating him like family—“

No, stop, right there. Don’t go there.

“Stop.“

Adam doesn’t listen, because Adam never listens, he never ever shuts up, especially not when Sam really, really needs him to leave something be.

“I won’t stop, Sam, not this time, I won’t stop because it’s the truth, and you know it. Dean’s treating him a hell of a lot more like a brother than he has you in a long time. After everything Castiel has done to you, after everything you’ve been through, Dean, the real Dean, the brother you pretend to love so much, the brother you talked about the whole time we were in the cage and it was so dark— he wouldn’t do that, Sam, ever. He’d never allow some feathered dickhead to get between you and treat him better than you—“

“Stop!“

They have an unspoken understanding: Adam won’t touch Dean in his rants and Sam lets him talk about Castiel however he wants. Dean is dangerous territory, Sam doesn’t talk about him, doesn’t think about him and Adam knows it. Should know it. Dean is off limits.

Adam gets it, this time, he backs off, physically as well as verbally, he takes a step back, raises his hands, turns away. The subject is closed, as far as Sam is concerned, and he opens the laptop again.

And just when he is about to get lost in his research—

“Do _you_ want to save him?”

Adam isn’t yelling anymore, voice deceptively calm and even. He’s back to watching Sam again, arms crossed in front of his chest, leaning against the door.

“What?”

“If Castiel wasn’t Dean’s best friend, if he wasn’t family as you say, would you want to save him? No matter the cost?”

That’s a question Adam hasn’t asked before and Sam… hesitates.

He hasn’t thought about this before, they’d decided to find a way to get Cas back to normal… and that had been it, no second thoughts about it, no need to question that decision, Dean had asked him to help him and Sam had agreed.

And now that he thinks about it, now that he takes a moment to really put some thought to it—there’s only one answer.

“Yeah,” he says softly, “I would try to save him.”

Because he would, he couldn’t not do it.

There’s a pause, Adam doesn’t react, doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches until Sam becomes aware of it and looks up, looks over at Adam to find his brother studying him. Again. But he’s watching him differently than before, almost miserably.

“You would…” Adam sighs, and he doesn’t agree, not one bit, but he isn’t angry, isn’t preparing to give him another speech of how he should pull himself together and believe him and kick Castiel’s ass already, no, there is none of that, Adam simply looks at him. And sighs again, a soft, sad sound.

“You would save him, but not because you want to, you’d do it because you think that saving him would make up for something you did wrong.”

He makes another sound, one Sam barely recognizes as a sad huff and shakes his head slowly.

“Sam, you’re the only person I know who would fight teeth and nails to save someone who was responsible for getting you into the mess in the first place.”

He waits for an answer, stares at him, daring Sam to prove him wrong, to protest against it, but the truth is, Sam doesn’t want to, doesn’t see the point in picking a fight, not about this.

And Adam doesn’t know when to quit.

“This has to stop, Sam, it’s killing you…”

Sam doesn’t want to answer—and Adam turns serious, counting the points he’s making on the fingers of his hand.

“You don’t sleep, you barely eat, you don’t go out, you don’t talk—and for what? Saving Castiel won’t change anything, it won’t make you hurt less, it won’t make the pain go away, don’t you get it? This isn’t about Castiel at all, it’s about you!”

Something about Adam’s tone, about the way he chooses his words catches Sam’s attention and his heart stutters for a beat. A tight knot of tension settles in his stomach, makes his skin crawl with a sudden feeling of… _loss_?

“You do this and you do it because you want to, not because you think Dean needs you, not because that’s what Dean says you should do, not because you think it will make up for something. For once in your life put yourself first, Sam. You got out of the cage to… what? Let them put you into another?”

Dean.

Adam sounds so much like Dean it takes Sam’s breath away, it’s not his voice, it’s the tone, the caring, the genuine worry that all but drips from Adam’s words that stuns him. He remembers this, he remembers Dean talking to him like that in countless motel rooms, worried for Sam, still caring for him as if Sam’s wellbeing actually meant something, as if he really cared, a much younger Dean in a much less confusing time—And Sam suddenly misses his brother so bad it hurts, it hurts to remember this, it tears his heart out that he doesn’t have this anymore, that he’s lost it—

He has to put an end to this, to all of this, before he snaps.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

His tone makes it very clear that he doesn’t want to talk about it, that he won’t be discussing anything anymore. This—all this, the conversation, the broken relationship with Dean, the stupid hallucination thing he has going with ‘Adam’… he won’t do this anymore, the show is over, he’s done, done with everything.

“This isn’t you, Sammy… after everything you fought, and won, you can’t just give up and let them kill you now.”

He knows, he knows if he looks up, now, it won’t be Adam looking back at him. It won’t be his _little_ brother that the hallucination looks like. And he can’t do this, he can’t look up, he can’t bear to see him looking back, eyes full of familiar and yet long-absent concern, genuine worry, affection—everything he’s missing so much it makes him physically sick just thinking about it—

He won’t, he won’t look up, he won’t acknowledge any of this anymore. This new trick is unfair, and cruel, and he can’t…

“This… keeping quiet and not fighting back… what you’re doing right now won’t help anyone, you’re running, Sam, you’re running away from it all because it hurts too much… Am I right?”

It’s not him, he isn’t there, he isn’t real, it’s not him—

Not real.

“Am I right?”

He doesn’t look up.

He can’t look up, he can’t face it— _him_ , it’s too much.

Sam gets up from his chair then, carefully not looking at him, and turns to the door. A walk, he needs to go for a walk, get his head clear, not think about anything. Adam is usually gone for some time after Sam gets back and he is alone for some time. An hour.

Two if he’s really lucky.

Sam is so focused on trying to ignore Adam’s presence that he can’t help but jump when Adam’s much sharper voice suddenly rises behind him.

“You know what, you don’t want to talk about it? You don’t want to deal with it? Fine then don’t. Stay up all night, look things up as much as you want, find a way to help him get his real brother back… so that you can watch him leave. Leave Dean in the hands of that backstabbing traitor—“

And it clicks, pieces fall together in his head and form a picture he doesn’t want to see. He knows why Adam won’t stop, won’t give up, and it so pathetically obvious he can barely hold back a tired grin.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he says to the door. “I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work, Adam, it won’t work.”

There’s no answer, but Sam knows he’s right, he doesn’t need to see him for that.

“You’re trying to get me mad at Castiel, to make me hate him—because he left you in the cage. Because he came for me and left you there without looking back—“

“Damn right I’m angry, Sam, I don’t want to be in the cage anymore, I want out! I want out, I want to have my life back and kick Castiel’s ass myself! I don’t want to be here—“

And Sam turns, whirls around, faces his brother, the hallucination, glares at him and yells back, yells louder than Adam’s screams, to drown him out.

“You’re dead! You’re _dead_ , Adam, you can’t get out because you’re dead! Castiel couldn’t save you because when he got there you were gone and I was alone with them! They made me watch how they killed you, they forced me to see how they tore you apart and ate you alive, I couldn’t stop them! I couldn’t stop any of it! I couldn’t help you, I couldn’t do anything—“

His voice gives out then and he is forced to stop, has to take a breath, get air into his lungs.

He expects Adam to take advantage of it, to shout back at him, but he doesn’t. Adam stands there, looking at him, face guarded, calm.

And sad.

When Adam speaks his voice barely carries across the distance separating them.

“Yes, Sam, you’re right, I’m dead. I’m dead. You’re making me up. And you had to watch, they made you watch them kill me and you couldn’t do shit to help me. They killed me and you’re blaming yourself for it and you won’t stop because you feel you’re responsible. You hate yourself because you couldn’t help me, and I get that, I do, but, Sam—“

“Stop…”

There is not enough air, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe—

“That’s why I’m here, Sam, that’s why you’re seeing me, that’s why you’re talking to me, that’s why you’re lying to yourself, Sam, because it’s so much easier pretending I’m still there, even as something as fucked up as a hallucination, than to deal with the truth.”

“No.”

“You’re punishing yourself…”

“No, please… just stop.”

He can’t breathe.

Why can’t he breathe?

“No, Sam, _you_ have to stop, you have to stop hating yourself for something you couldn’t prevent. It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t kill me, it wasn’t your fault, Sam. I’m dead, I’m gone, you have to let me go…”

“I can’t, it was my fault…”

“It wasn’t! It was not your fault, there was nothing you could have done and you know it!”

It’s not true, it’s not true—

“No!”

But Adam never stops, he _never_ stops…

“And you’re hiding behind all this; trying to find a way to save Castiel, when inside you hate him, and you know he’s bad for you and dangerous to Dean. Trying to find a way to save me, when you know it’s too late. Nothing you could find in those books would get me back.”

Not true…

“No—“

“I’m dead, Sam. I’m gone. You have to let me go.”

“Adam…”

“Stop it, Sam, stop this. Be the first Winchester to let someone go when it’s their time.”

“I can’t…”

It doesn’t work like that, his family doesn’t work like that, it’s not possible, not like this… Adam’s only half his family, Adam is not a full Winchester, he can’t know, he can’t understand, he will never get it.

“You can and you will. You have to. No matter how much this is going to hurt you… you have to let me go, no more plans to get me out, no more hope that I might still be there. None of that. Promise me that.”

And he has it all wrong.

“Adam…”

All wrong.

“Promise me.”

He can’t, he can’t, and Adam won’t understand it.

“I can’t, I can’t promise you and I can’t let you go.”

He won’t ever understand it. Sam’s not even sure he understands it himself, anymore.

“You have to, Sam.”

“Why?”

Adam is silent.

“Tell me, Adam, why do I have to let you go? Huh? Why? Why would you even want that? You’re dead! You’re gone, you don’t care about what I think. You’re not even here, you’re not even you! You’re just—you’re just a figment of my own imagination and if I can’t let you go… if I can’t get over this… it won’t matter to you, not at all.”

“Sam…”

“I can’t forget it, any of it, I just… I can’t… I keep seeing you die… Every night… every time I think about you. Over and over again. And I can never stop it. Never. And that’s never going to change and you know it. I can’t get over this because it’s my fault and nothing… nothing you can say will change that… Not me letting you go, not me dealing with it, not me getting over it, nothing.”

Adam looks sad, and for a moment Sam can see the scars, the twisted and mutilated face just under his skin, like the shadow of a cloud. And when Adam speaks it’s with a deep sadness.

"Tell me something, Sam. Brother to brother. If I'm the ghost, if I'm the one who's dead... why are you the one who can’t rest?"

Sam turns his back, opens the door and leaves the room.

There’s only one answer to this and he knows he doesn’t have to say it, that Adam will hear it even if he just thinks it. Probably knows it already.

" _Because I don’t deserve to_.”

He doesn’t, he never will.

Ever.

Sometimes Sam thinks he would prefer nightmares.

Even though they scare him, even though they make him think he’s lost his mind, even though he dreads that moment when he doesn’t know what’s real and what’s not… There is one thing he likes about them, one fact he has always appreciated about them:

At one point, no matter how bad the dream might have been, no matter how much time you have to spend between reality and nightmare, there will always be a point when you will wake up and they will be gone.

Fading into the night.

Not real.

Just a figment of your imagination.

 

 

 

________________________

 

Original prompt by [](http://beamin-sunshine.livejournal.com/profile)[ **beamin_sunshine**](http://beamin-sunshine.livejournal.com/)  : _With his Hell memories now surfaced, Sam suddenly realizes that he left Adam all alone in the cage. After seeking comfort in each other in between torture sessions for 160+ years, they got close and Sam doesn't take the realization well. At all._


End file.
